by Paul Gallico
The surprise rustled from the leaders down through the ranks of the Indians and still within sight, sound and scent of the presence of man the three beasts remained immovable and undisturbed as though under some kind of spell of devotion.
Now to Jasper Adams it appeared that beyond the mysterious and unfrightened deer, beneath the branches of a great oak, he saw a glowing and at the center of it there was a primitive cradle such as the one he had constructed for Asher to sleep in at home. In it lay a swaddled infant and the glowing that surrounded it came neither from the moon nor the stars.
And it seemed to him too that he heard voices and speech from the beasts of the forest even as the legend had it of the miracles of Christmas Eve and that they were murmuring in unison, “Glory to God in the highest. On earth peace, goodwill toward men.”
Then he likewise knelt in the snow crying to his wife, “Ah, Dorcas! Kneel thou too! For it is midnight of the eve of Christmas when Jesus was born and the beasts of burden and the wild things of the field and forest bend the knee to worship and adore Him and are given the power of speech to pray.”
Dorcas had taken her child from the Algonkin who was too amazed to resist and cradling it in her arms tightly to her breast she also knelt. Her lips moved but her eyes were blinded by tears.
Then Jasper Adams, with no thought of themselves or their plight, prayed a welcome to The Child, “Gentle Jesus, come to be our Savior. I will worship Thee and hearken to Thy commandments. Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, goodwill toward men . . .”
Quanta was mystified and impressed by the strange sight and the agony which he knew the white man must be enduring for he had both dealt the man some of his wounds and performed the rough surgery on them. Fortitude he could understand and admire but here undoubtedly was a great mystery. He said to Nyagway, “Ask him does he know the meaning of this.”
Nyagway did so. Jasper Adams replied only, “Hush! Kneel down, all ye, and pray likewise. Praise the Lord God on high for this is the hour of the birth of his only begotten Son.”
Confused, the interpreter translated as best he could and the Indians moved uneasily in the presence of the unknown. The antlered buck now heaved himself slowly to his forefeet followed by the doe and the little fawn, but remained yet standing there unafraid on the carpet of snow in the center of the glade.
To Dorcas, too, it seemed as though there had been a peal of sounds of beauty as though from above and she felt herself suffused with a new courage and a great love and she pressed her child more closely to her breast and loved and wept over him.
For yet another moment the buck remained standing, his head raised high seemingly oblivious to those ringing the edge of the glade and to Jasper Adams his proud penetrating glance appeared to be directed at him, piercing him to the marrow as though communicating a shared experience. Then slowly the beast turned and followed in single file by his doe and fawn trotted across the circle and vanished in the darkness of the forest.
The majestic passage of these lords of the woods had hypnotized the Indians into unbelieving silence so that they were hardly aware of the departure until they looked again and saw that the animals had disappeared as though they had never been there. And yet, although the moonbathed glade was empty there was evidence of the disturbed snow where they had knelt and their tracks leading away.
Quanta with a shudder said to Nyagway, “Ask him what is this magic. To what Manitou does he pray?”
Nyagway translated. Jasper Adams endured the torment of regaining his feet, but Dorcas, lacking the strength, remained in the snow rocking her child.
“To the Lord God and His only begotten Son Jesus Christ who was born on this Holy Night for to save the sinners of the world . . .”
Quanta was puzzled. “But what of the deer that knelt?” he asked. “Is there a tale?”
Jasper Adams said to Nyagway, “Tell him aye.”
Quanta instructed, “Release him. Order him that we would hear it now.”
The Indians like children squatted cross-legged, Nyagway in the center, his fat features as placid as a Buddha’s as he attuned himself to his task.
Jasper Adams, his hands freed, stood swaying, fighting to hold himself erect, struggling to remember through the fog of pain his Testaments and childhood teachings.
He began: “A new star appeared in the sky over Bethlehem on such a night as this many hundreds of years ago, one never before seen by any man. In the east, Three Wise Men were traveling. They saw the star in the Heavens and knew that the King of All had been born. They turned aside and followed the star to bring Him gifts. And the shepherds in the fields tending their flocks saw the star and heard an angel and came likewise.”
The encircling Indians listening to the translation grunted “Heh!” or “Hau!” and settled themselves more comfortably. Bethlehem meant nothing to them but they knew of stars and kings and wise men and the tending of flocks in the field. And also they gathered that this was a tale, like so many of their own, that was of old.
Nyagway, the center of attention, was in his element. His flat features became animated, his small eyes glowed. He gestured and his voice picked up the inflections of Jasper Adams who seemed to gain in strength and joy as he unfolded his story.
“To Bethlehem there came two travelers, Mary and Joseph, husband and wife, and Mary was large with child. But the child was not of Joseph, but of God, for the spirit of God had entered into Mary.”
The listeners and even Quanta murmured, “Hau Hau!” and nodded their heads for talk of spirits they could understand.
Dorcas hugged her child and looking upwards saw one whose strength and depth she had not even dreamed. Lover and husband he had been, but now he seemed touched by God as well. He towered so tall that his head reached into the sky, crowned with light, the shadows of his great arms were longer than the dark spreading branches and his voice booming through the forest aisles was like organ music.
“When it came Mary’s time there was no place for them at the inn at Bethlehem nor would any humans give them shelter. So they went to a stable and there in the manger the infant Jesus was born. And about His head there was such a glowing as there is in the Heavens tonight.”
For much of what Jasper was narrating Nyagway had no point of reference and could not wholly understand. He interpreted it in terms of Indian life, shocking his listeners with the revelation of the lack of hospitality and cruelty of the fact that no one would take in these wayfarers and that the woman had to go to give birth where the beasts were gathered. But when it came to the glow in the heavens they were at home and all followed Nyagway’s gesture and looked up into the milky sky behind which apparently were hidden the mysteries of the white man as well as their own. Dorcas gazed into the face of her husband and what she saw was both tender and terrible.
The story continued: “And the ox bowed down to worship and gave the Infant of his soft straw for His bed. And the ass bowed down to worship and gave the Infant of her warm milk to drink. And the sheep too bowed down to worship and crowded close with their soft wool to keep the Infant warm.”
Thrice Nyagway bowed as he narrated and his audience swayed in movement with his body.
“. . . and ever since that time the beasts of burden and the creatures of the field and forest kneel down in secret at midnight of Christmas Eve. This night, as they did so long ago, they worship the Christ Child and are given the power of human speech to pray to Him.”
Quanta’s breath was exhaled in a long, hissing sigh. “Ah. The deer!” Then he asked of Nyagway, “Were they then heard to speak? What were their words?”
When the question was put to him Jasper had to listen for a moment within himself for he was not quite certain whether he had heard it or thought it. And then it seemed to him that he heard quite clearly. “They prayed to the Lord God and the Infant Jesus, ‘Oh Almighty Father and gentle Jesus, watch over us and protect us from the wolves, from the tree cats, from hunger and thirst and the hunter. Let Thy grace
descend upon us so that we may live together in peace and love one another.’ ”
Quanta nodded. He was himself a family man and the words and imagery pleased him. He asked, “And what became of this child?”
Jasper Adams felt his strength beginning to fail him. Nevertheless he undertook to reply, “His name was Jesus and He grew up to become a great preacher. He preached that God, His Father, was our Father and the Father of all. Those who did not believe in Him or His message caused Him to be tortured and nailed to a cross until He gave up the ghost. He died so that men all over the world would remember the love that He preached. And after the third day He rose from His tomb and joined His Father in Heaven and men believed and worshiped Him.”
Jasper spoke no more. He was close to the end of his resources and would have fallen but for clutching the shoulder of Nyagway who having interpreted the last sentences added, “The tale is at an end. The white man is very ill.” The Indians had fallen quite silent and Quanta’s head was momentarily sunk upon his chest in some kind of faraway contemplation.
There occurred then a diversion that sent the party springing to its arms as two snow-shoe-equipped Algonkin scouts hurried in from a side trail and conferred with Quanta. The gist of their report was that a large force of Iroquois with some English was no more than a few hours behind.
Quanta’s lieutenant gestured towards the captives. “Shall I kill them?”
Quanta debated. A word, a nod, a flashing of axe blades in the moonlight and he would be relieved of this hazard to the security of his command. He would have concluded the raid to the best of his ability. Yet he hesitated.
Quanta was himself a deeply religious man and where a Christian would have crossed himself, now his fingers sought and touched the little medicine bundle that hung about his neck, a collection of small objects, a queerly shaped stone, some feathers, the leg bone of a small animal and some dried plants, objects endowed with magical properties, talismans wrapped in an otter-skin always carried on his person. He feared and worshiped many mysterious and unseen beings of the forest as well as the manifestations of nature, the skies overhead, lightning, thunder, fire and water and he recognized the mysterious cosmic powers abounding everywhere in his world.
And as he clutched his medicine bag for protection and thought, it came to him that while the beliefs of himself and the people from over the seas were so different one should not be disrespectful towards strange Gods and the magic of others and that if this were the night of the Great Manitou of the white man to whom even the wild deer bowed down in prayer, it might not be propitious to harm them.
In the specific religion of the Algonkin tribes of the north country their chief deity was a mighty Great Hare who lived behind the sky. How this little animal slipping furtively through the forest paths, shy and elusive, had grown to be their all-encompassing, omnipotent deity, Quanta did not know. Surely it went back to some ancient tale, the beginnings of which had been forgotten even by the wisest and most long-lived of the elders. But as he looked up into the same bright winter canopy behind which his captive had seen his Manitou and Father he visualized spreading from horizon to horizon the softness of the belly of the symbolic animal to which he would be gathered when death finally came to him and in the warmth of whose bosom he would rest in eternal bliss.
For a moment the thought flashed through his mind, the Great Hare and the Father and the Son by the woman who was denied the hospitality of the lodge, were they perhaps one and the same? But then it seemed to him it could not be so, that the tale was too strange and that besides the Great Hare there were other Gods and they must not be offended. For his logic was not like the logic of the white man. His captives were not only his prisoners but at the same time his guests and their beliefs were to be respected. Respect for the Gods of strangers! Like all early and primitive people this was one of the strongest traits with which they were imbued for one never knew too much about the powers of these foreign spirits. That night he had witnessed something which could not be explained by any Indian lore he had ever heard. If he were to anger the Great Father of whom the man had spoken He might severely punish him. On the other hand were He to be appeased on this so special night and the night of His Son He might even sometime extend His own protection to Quanta.
And so Quanta-wa-neh reached his decision. To slay the captives after what had taken place would be neither meet nor polite in terms of the Indian concept of hospitality to strangers who had pleased them with a mysterious story nor politic to all Gods. Yes, even the Great Hare might be offended. “Release them,” he ordered. “We will let them go.”
To his command he gave a practical explanation. He said, “You have heard. The pursuers are too many for us and their approach rapid. If they find the captives dead they will continue on to take their revenge upon us. But if they come upon them still alive and in need of aid they will stop in the manner of the white man to look after them and will not follow after us. Obey.”
And so, Quanta-wa-neh, the savage Algonkin chieftain, gave Jasper and Dorcas and the babe, Asher, their liberty as a Christmas present, but it was Nyagway, the fat, wheezy old Seneca renegade, who out of gratitude made them the gift of life.
Obeying Quanta’s instructions the raiding party quickly freed the captives of their bonds, propped them up against the trunk of one of the aged oaks, looked to their weapons, disposed themselves for swift passage and then, like ghosts, vanished northwards once more into the darkness.
But Nyagway waited behind for a moment even though it would cost him much breathlessness and effort to catch up for he knew that he had acquired great merit that night amongst the Algonkin and that the tale that he had told would travel to campfires the length and breadth of the country. No longer would he be known as “The-Foolish-One-Who-Waddles-Like-A-Bear,” but instead as “Teller-Of-The-Great-Tale-At-Midnight.” And he would be importuned to repeat it in lodge or wigwam. He fumbled at his pouch for a moment, then going to Jasper pressed flint and steel into his hand. Then, without a word, he turned and scuttled off.
Once more Jasper Adams found some last reserve of strength for fire meant warmth and warmth in the winter wilderness was life. He dug into the snow to collect twigs and branches, then crawled painfully to gather spruce boughs for a bed for the child. The sparks from the steel caught his tinder and when the blaze was roaring and the baby warmly bedded he at last allowed himself to rest braced against a tree with his wife held in his arms. Then there came upon him the overwhelming fear that Dorcas might not live through the night for she seemed far gone. Her lips moved and when he bent his head he heard her whisper the prayer of the deer, “Oh Almighty Father and gentle Jesus, let Thy grace descend upon us so that we may live together in peace and love one another.”
It was Christmas morning though the dawn had yet to break through the darkness. Jasper looked up into the sky through a giant fir, its branches illuminated as by the candles of the stars that studded the bow of the sky and seemed to lean down and rest upon the needled limbs. And at the very peak of the tree one such star seemed to be affixed there, gleaming blue-white as bright perhaps as that strange one that had appeared over Bethlehem so long ago.
Then for the first and last time in his life Jasper Adams beseeched of his God something for himself.
“Lord God,” he prayed, “forgive me for asking yet more of Thee who hast been so merciful to us on this day but what availeth the life Thou hast restoreth to me if Thou takest from me this woman who is my heart and my soul. Spare her, Lord . . .”
It was not long after this that there came the sound of horses, a jingling of weapons and accouterments and a crashing of many men bursting through the forest aisles and it was thus that the rescue party of Iroquois and British soldiery found them, the man and the woman still alive, the child Asher, on his bed of boughs, awake and laughing at the dancing tongues of fire, orange and red against the snow.
This is how I remember the story as it was told to me by my great-grandmother on t
he eve of another Christmas by the candlelit tree and the fireside when I was young . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PAUL GALLICO has written 26 novels, including four Mrs. ’Arris books, The Snow Goose, Thomasina, and The Poseidon Adventure, and four books for children. He lives in London and on the Riviera.
